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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo
Colección 2, Poema 12
XII.
IN
VAIN.
I
cannot
live
with
you,
It
would
be
life,
And
life
is
over
there
Behind
the
shelf
The
sexton
keeps
the
key
to,
Putting
up
Our
life,
his
porcelain,
Like
a
cup
Discarded
by
the
housewife,
Old
or
broken;
A
newer
one
pleases,
Old
ones
crack.
I
could
not
die
with
you,
For
one
must
wait
To
close
the
other's
eyes,
—
You
could
not.
And
I,
could
I
stand
by
And
see
you
freeze,
Without
my
right
of
frost,
Death's
privilege?
Nor
could
I
rise
with
you,
Because
your
face
Would
outshine
Jesus',
That
new
grace
Glow
plain
and
foreign
On
my
homesick
eye,
Except
that
you,
than
he
Shone
closer
by.
They'd
judge
us
—
how?
For
you
served
Heaven,
you
know,
Or
tried
to;
I
could
not,
Because
you
filled
my
sight,
And
I
had
no
more
eyes
For
simple
excellence
As
Paradise.
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Poemas de Emily Dickinson, Tres Series, Completo — B1 Inglés | Cuentana